


Calico Jack

by Glenmore



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dogs, Loneliness, Recovery, Sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 03:05:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9579650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glenmore/pseuds/Glenmore
Summary: Sherlock decides that he can have a dog.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mirabile Dictu (Mira)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/gifts).



> This was posted in 2014, and deleted in 2015. I've edited it slightly to bring in it in line with canon. It is being restored because Mira won me in Fandoms Trump Hate, and as her prize asked that I restore my stories. 
> 
> Thank you, Mira! xxx

After all that had happened, Sherlock found himself tired and nowhere to go. John, busy now with his child, dropped by less, and Sherlock spent many nights alone, staring at the empty chair and remembering when he shared his life with a friend. 

The old fears were rising in his blood. Their threat was sharp,

Sherlock knew he had to make some changes because change can dilute fear. He started going to bed at the end of his day and slept, for it felt like he hadn’t for months. He ate apples and cheese like Isaac Newtown had because it was convenient. He sat in his still flat and stared over his perfectly aligned fingers and thought about things carefully and made some decisions. 

He decided he had no reason to be lonely. 

He decided that he had always wanted a dog, and now there was no reason why he couldn’t have one. 

So on a gray cold morning he dressed in a navy suit and a very pale green shirt and took himself to the Battersea Dogs’ Home. He walked the concrete corridors, certain he would weep as snout after desperate snout pushed towards him through the wire cage doors. It was worse when there was no snout at the wire, but just a forlorn dog curled on the thin mat in its cell, looking away, with no hope left anymore. 

Sherlock persevered only because he knew who he was looking for, and his faith that he would find him was immobile. 

But there’s always something, because when he found who he was looking for, he was a she. Everything else was in place – a perfect rust red coat, wide flags of silky ears and a tail that that, when it wagged, swung like a fringed curtain. That tail could clear a coffee table with one sweep. 

She cost him one hundred and thirty five pounds and even had papers, which Sherlock memorised before they were on the street. They gave him a leash too, and a leather collar which he intended to replace when he found the right kind. 

Her name was Archer – because she could actually hold her back straight like a steel rod and point like an arrow if she was asked correctly – but that was not relevant to him and in any case she hadn’t heard her name for months and wouldn’t look at him when he tried it. 

He crouched before her and called her to him when they got outside. “Calico Jack,” he said, and she liked it too. She walked proudly beside him and smelt the fine air around her and on every corner. She had forgotten how big and bright the world could be. 

“Oh, what have you got?” Mrs Hudson cried when Sherlock came home with Calico Jack at his shins. 

“This is my new dog,” he said happily. “Mrs Hudson, I’d like to introduce you to Calico Jack.” 

Mrs Hudson leaned down to stroke the long silky ears. “Hello, pretty girl!”

Calico Jack sat down formally and offered a paw. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Sherlock told his dog. 

But Mrs Hudson was charmed by Jack’s good manners. “Sherlock, she’s a beautiful dog. Such a pity you can’t have pets here.” 

“It is, I know.” And Calico Jack leapt up the stairs after him and wagged her tail as he opened the door. 

“This is where we live,” he explained. “That’s my seat, the black one, and you can sit on this one, the tapestry one.” He patted the fat cushion with his hand. “You can sit with me here, if you like.”

Calico Jack didn’t have to be told twice. She jumped on her chair and smelt wool and gun oil. 

Sherlock crouched down before her again and she licked his face extravagantly. 

“Oh, you are lovely. Thank you for the kisses. Now. Walks will be every morning after breakfast unless there’s a case, in which case you’ll have to make do with what I can squeeze in. Dinner will be every evening on the landing unless I forget, in which case you have my permission to bark or howl or make some appropriate loud dog noise. You can sleep on the chair here or on the bed upstairs or on my bed. No chewing of any shoe or garment is permitted, and no fleas, unless I need them for experiments. Is that clear?” 

Calico Jack put her smart face on her paws and flapped her tail hard on the chair. 

“Good girl. Take some time to make yourself acquainted with the flat and then we’ll get a bite to eat.” 

But Calico Jack wouldn’t move. From where she sat she could see everything that was important and besides, it was nice to sit on fabric that no other dog had used. She looked around the room and thought proudly: I am the first dog of this pack, and I sit here. He of the Suit is my pack leader and I am aligned to him. 

Early in the evening they walked to the Waitrose Express and bought six tins of dog food. When they got home, Calico Jack ate from a large soup bowl and left not one morsel. 

Sherlock had a biscuit and one quarter of a sour orange while he read the New York Times on his phone. 

He wasn’t inclined to sleep his bed that night and when he did hang up his suit and slip into his pyjamas at 2am, he lay on the couch and drew his legs up close to his chest. 

He waited in the dark, wondering how long it might take. In less than seven minutes, her thick nails made little clicks on the floor and she whimpered softly, letting him know there were no rules about the couch. 

The both slept soundly that night. 

In the morning he clipped her leash to her collar and took her for their first official walk. “Going to the shops doesn’t count,” he told her.

She learnt his steps straight away and favoured his left, where she could watch for any threats and bark at cars if they got too close. 

The next day Lestrade called and there was a case. Calico Jack sat calmly on the edge of the crime scene and didn’t even blink when strange hands patted her. I am with He of the Suit and he is the head of my pack. Don’t bother touching me. 

“You’ve got a dog!” Lestrade said. 

Sherlock is deaf to the bleeding obvious. “There are rope burns on the hands. Did anyone find any ropes?” 

Calico Jack sat up straight and waited to see if anyone found the ropes. She was disappointed when no one did. 

Before they left Sherlock introduced her to Lestrade, who is a sucker for tall silky dogs. He got on his hunches to pat her with both hands. 

“Hello, Jack!” 

She liked his smell and licked his fingers to confirm that. 

A day or two later Mycroft came to visit and stopped short at the door when Calico Jack bailed him up with just a hint of sharp needly teeth. 

“At ease, Jack,” Sherlock said and Calico Jack stood behind him, taking in the air around Mycroft. She gave him a mild woof. I am the first dog here and you smell a little like the leader of my pack. 

Mycroft smiled indulgently. “Oh, brother dear. You act like you are a creature of spontaneity yet Sherlock, you are as predictable as they come.” 

Mycroft leaned forward to look at Jack’s wary face. “Aren’t you gorgeous,” he said in a soft voice, and Calico Jack tilt her head towards him. “I’m sure you and Sherlock will have splendid adventures on the high seas together.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

That afternoon, a man in a grey uniform delivered a dog bed, a medallion in the shape of a Jolly Roger, a pack of twelve tennis balls and some gaudy coloured toy animal that squeaked if you bit it hard enough. 

Sherlock and Calico Jack inspected the gifts carefully. The Jolly Roger tag was attached to her collar immediately and looked splendid against her russet coat. 

“You can use the bed for when you have friends over,” Sherlock decided. “We’ll keep it in the spare room.” Because that what it was now, an empty room that no one used. 

He sat down at his table to sort through what chemicals he may or may not have these days for experiments, and smiled softly to himself when he heard the intermittent squeaking noise from what was once John’s chair. 

***

Calico Jack had been resident at Baker Street for three weeks when John Watson visited. 

“Oh! You’ve got a dog! A real one this time!” He extended the back of his hand for Calico Jack to smell. She considered his scent briefly and jumped up on her chair, back to him. 

John sat at the table. Tea appeared and Sherlock sat opposite while they talked about cases, colic and the demands of babies. There was a small space between their feet and after a few minutes, Calico Jack found she was able to fit in there quite comfortably. 

***

“That was John Watson,” Sherlock told her when John had gone. 

Sherlock leant over her, almost whispering, and Calico Jack listened closely. “He used to live here, and he was my friend. He married a ruthless woman who shot me in the chest, just here.” Calico Jack saw the long finger point just below his heart. “They had a baby, and later she took a bullet for me, and John blames me for her death. He beat me very badly, and now we act like nothing is wrong but we can’t quite forgive each other.” 

Sherlock moved to his black chair, legs extended before him and crossed at the ankles while he thought and remembered. It still hurt so badly. He closed his eyes, the poisonous fears rushing in to paralyse him, when he felt the smooth satin head slip under his hand. 

He opened his eyes to hers, bright and amber. If she could have talked she would have told him: I know what it is love someone unconditionally, and to be beaten, and to be rejected. I know too that there is plenty of love in your heart and I still have plenty in mine. The world is not all awful now I have you, because now there are tennis balls and cases and most importantly, there are always walks to be had. 

Sherlock stroked her smooth crown. “Should we have a walk?” 

Calico Jack ran straight to the door, tail flying. 

It was bright and noisy in the heart of London. Sherlock walked straight and tall with Calico Jack to his left as they made their way to the park, watching the other pedestrians, ears tuned to the traffic lest any vehicle came too close. She too held her head high, proud to walk beside Sherlock. When they stopped at the lights she pulled up close and surveyed her new kingdom. The shelter was a bad memory now everything was laced with the scent of Sherlock. He looked down at her and smiled, and she gave one joyful bark to him and the rest of the world: I am with He of the Suit and he is the leader of my pack. No harm will come to him while he walks beside me.


End file.
